BeLl
by Li'l Yahiko
Summary: One-shot. Anime-verse. L muses about himself and his human emotions while listening to the bell toll. And wonders if Raito can hear the sound. A/N: Just trying to get back in the game after a long hiatus


-1_**BeLl**_

(Death Note is property of its respective owners)

This one-shot centers around the anime episode "Silence".

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No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friends or of thine own were; any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

These words were written in 1624, by one John Donne, a man whom is so far from my time that it would be extremely unethical to even find his thoughts relatable in today's world. However, that is the magic of written prose, something I was never truly ever to do effectively but always admired when I had enough spare time to actually read. I have read this particular piece, _Devotions Upon Emergent Occasions_, only once, but this particular passage stuck out in my mind that I have read this particular quote several times.

I relate to the man's words, for I hear the bell that he speaks of. As a man who studies deep into the depths of mysteries, following a "Sherlock Holmes" path in a more modern case of Who-done-it, I have often had to associate myself with the subject of death and have become more knowledgeable on it than life. I hear that tolling bell from time to time, but there was no day like today, where I heard the chiming so strong that I decided to make an attempt at prose. Forgive me if my writings are far from acceptable, for it is not a point I've made myself strong in, as I said before, but I merely need someway to examine my thoughts. It is doubtful this will be read either ways, so to be honest, I don't even know who I am talking to. Perhaps it is even me who I am talking to.

Of course, that seems unlikely. I'd like to believe it's far more likely that I'm writing this for someone else. Though he will, as I just said, probably not read it, I am writing it in the intent that it is for his eyes.

The morning was cloudy. I remember that. In fact, I remember waking up to this cloudy weather and feeling this overwhelming since of solitude that overcame me. I have never been someone who expressed himself very much, for I do not think in an emotional sense. My mind has always been locked in the scientific world, full of numbers and equations, of questions. I was always out to find an answer; I didn't need anything else. I needed no one, mainly because I had no one around to need, except for maybe Watari. However, I have come to find that just as everyone else, I am far from robotic. I am human. I might not convey any feelings, but I do have them.

I began to actually feel when he and I spent time together. I was outside more often, smelling the air. I was in classrooms, surrounded by others who thirsted for knowledge with almost as much vigor as I did in childhood. I was finally able to read at my leisure, while in the public, and I was able to play games. While my brain still stayed completely concentrated on the Kira case, my… I suppose, soul would be the word most writers would use… my soul felt relief. I felt like I was no longer alone.

But either way, this morning I awoke feeling alone again. The room was eerily cold, like death itself was standing by my bedside. I tried to ignore this feeling in my chest, the one I'd learn to understand, and come to regret that I knew it, but I ended up splaying my thoughts to Watari.

However, even then, I couldn't describe it the way that I wanted to. I told him about it systematically. If he didn't know me so well, he probably wouldn't have understood what I was trying to say at all.

Watari wasn't really the one I wanted to talk to anyways. It was the one I write this for now. The one that ruined me by showing me that I was no cyborg; in fact, I was human, full of mistakes and passion just as much as the next one. As I found myself in the public eye, whether in schools or at restaurants or the like, I came to find that I was more and more intrigued with acceptance. These humans that I used to see only as suspects, I came to find I was seeing as what they are, humans. I wanted to talk to them, maybe not to truly relate, but to understand how the average human mind works. I wanted to be their… acquaintance, perhaps, though I don't suppose I could ever be friends with someone who was not on the same mental level as myself. That was why he was my friend. He didn't see me as a bizarre human being who knew not of what he was speaking of. He recognized my meanings behind my words, understood me, and took up the challenge.

My friend.

It was weird to think about, and even when I told him that he had been the first real friend I had ever had, I still sounded so oddly mathematical. He probably thought I was toying with him, and maybe to an extent I was, but I meant what I said.

I came to recognize that feeling of sadness that I felt when I woke up this morning when I realized that I considered him more than a suspect. It was painful to be unable to stop feeling the fondness that I did, all the while knowing that he was guilty of the most wicked of crimes. There was no getting around it. I'd known not long after I'd met him that he was the one. Perhaps, it was the same time I came to acknowledge him as my friend. I cannot really remember now.

Rain is pelting against the window panes while I write these words, these odd musings that probably don't make any sense or connection to each other… I listen to the sound it makes, so quiet… The bell's peaceful chime actually relaxes me… It's the first time throughout the entire case that I've been at peace when I'm alone… I know the truth, and I know the inevitable.

In case I come up with something soon, there's no way I will be able to prove his guilt… and somewhere deep inside of me, I hate myself for wondering if I want to. He's my friend.

The statement sounds very childish when I read it back to myself.

I can hear this tune in my head, something echoing along the walls of where the bell tolls. It was the sound of the organ playing a song… I feel like maybe I have heard it before… Maybe once, in a church… At a funeral. I had been to a funeral as a child. I just can't remember who had died now. Maybe I just don't want to.

All of these sounds rolling around in my head, and yet it's quiet in the room. All that there really is the sound of my fingers on the keyboard (I chicken-peck when I type), and the air conditioner. Maybe the air conditioner is broken and that's why it's so cold. My logic makes this point, and yet, my newly-awakened human side still thinks Death is watching.

There are so many things I want to know before my time runs out, the time I for some reason feel is drawing very short. I want to speak with him, not to be able to relate, but to be able to understand the way his mind works. I want to know, so perhaps I can have the opportunity to be able to understand myself a bit better. It's really foolishness, though, that I'm writing this now. If he ever reads this, it will make him feel all the more special in the eyes of the world, when he is just a normal human like everyone else. Not a God. Not anything. But truth is, he is special to me.

My friend.

I refer back to the quote now. It speaks of involvement with mankind. You must understand how I have always been involved with mankind and their misdeeds, in their very thought process down to the core. But now I know of emotion and what it can lead a person to do, whether it is the greatest feeling of love that one would rather sacrifice oneself than see another in pain, or just that simple utter selfishness that I've witnessed in him, in his attempt to become the leader of the world. To be worshiped. A bastard in his own right, but still my friend. We're relatable in that I am selfish too, and I'm pretty sure some would consider me a bastard.

I still have yet to fully understand this sadness and solitude, this emotion which Watari explains is "loneliness", but I've come to accept it. I've come to be not only be content but actually quite happy with myself. And when I say "myself", I mean the real-person side of me. Even if it makes me weak.

My weakness.

Death.

Now, I wish not to see death like I have witnessed. Death is a horrible thing to watch, but it is a burden I have bared without much difficulty until I was able to think of how difficult it must be for those who lose. Not lose, as in a game. Lose as in lose someone. Like him. Even if he enjoys death. Even if he deserves to die.

There's a leak in the ceiling. Drop. Drop. Drop. Goes the rain drop. I can't stop watching it. Dropping.

I watch it fall, the rain, inside and outside, and I take a bite of cake that is sitting next to the laptop… For the first time ever, this sweet confection tastes bitter in my mouth. I barely managed to swallow it.

It's those feelings.

It's over, I know it. He's guilty, but there's no way I can prove it… I curse my thought process, that I should be so advanced that I must be caught between the lines of friendship and hatred. This thought process, that brought me to this realistic world, and ultimately will tear me away from it.

Do I have any regrets? Only failure.

Why? I'm selfish. I don't really care if justice is upheld, for any form of righteousness, I've come to find is only temporary. I just enjoy being challenged. I want to win. That's all.

I'm really not as complicated as people make me sound.

Bing. Bong. The bell.

I wonder if he can hear it. I suppose I could ask him, but he'll probably say no. He's a liar, so he will. A human who cares about no one. And yet, I care about him very much. I wish before it's too late, I can ask him questions, get inside his head completely, and see what makes him tick.

I want to be the first who hears truth out of his mouth, even if it's unspoken. I want to apologize… I truly do. I want to say that I'm sorry it has to end the way it does with one of us being dead…

But most of all, I just want to ask him one question. Once question. And I want him to lie, and I want to believe it, because I'm selfish.

I just want to ask.

Drop.

Drop.

Drop.

"In the end, Raito-kun, do you feel even the slightest bit of remorse for me, for whom the bell tolls?"

And then I want to know if he's read that piece. Maybe we could talk about it one day, just to talk, without any ulterior motives involved.

Maybe.

But probably not.


End file.
